


Lost Cause

by Alethia



Series: Lost Leave [3]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Developing Relationship, Episode Related, F/M, Feelings, Getting to Know Each Other, Michael is bad at feelings, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 17:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20119180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: "Here's what I'll say: super-hot flings are one thing, but anything longer term and you need someone who can keep up with you. Someone whose mind you respect. My guess? You're seeing that he fits the bill and it's freaking you out."





	Lost Cause

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to "Lost and Found" that takes place during 2.02 "New Eden" and won't make a lick of sense unless you've seen that. (Also, it is _amazing_ how much Michael stares at Pike in that episode). I intended to do more lighthearted fun, but it turns out that Michael has really A Lot of Feelings about Pike getting shot in the chest, so. This happened. Also posted [here](https://alethia.dreamwidth.org/1038201.html)

Michael watched Chris steadily as he listened to Spock's journal entry. He stared down at the recording, giving Michael the opportunity to study him, so calm, even now, with Spock admitting to visions terrorizing him at night. 

Chris took in Spock's sketch with equal calm, keen mind seeing just what she had—Spock predicting the same signals they would one day investigate. The prescience was...unsettling.

But Chris didn't seem unsettled at all, accepting the situation, like someday it would make sense.

Michael longed for that day. And the other things she longed for...well, she wasn't thinking about those. 

As Michael asked Chris to get in touch with Spock to ask about the signals, something flickered across his expression, something she hadn't seen in him before. Regret. Remorse, maybe. He even looked away from her as he said, "I know where Spock is, Burnham."

Michael froze with the surprise of it, not just the knowledge, but how deliberately he was using her last name. The distance of it stung, even though she'd asked for it. 

She stiffly followed him to his sitting area, unsure what she was sensing. It was unusual for Chris to be so reticent. He had only ever been open with her. 

"Your brother is in the psychiatric unit on Starbase 5. Since about a week after he took leave. Committed to the facility at his own request," Chris said, the air of apology mingling with some kind of command determination.

Michael blinked, too many thoughts racing through her at once—when they first met Chris had said he was bringing his "friend" for medical treatment, while she was off having a leave fling Spock was getting inpatient psychiatric care, how had Chris not _told her all this_?

She kept her voice even: "Why weren't my parents or I told about this request? It's Starfleet protocol to reach out to the families—"

"Unless the patient doesn't want that and Spock said no. Emphatically," he added, more hints of regret in his face. Michael worked through it all, understanding the reasons Chris had kept this from her—it was Spock's request, he was following protocol and respecting his wishes...yet it still _hurt_. 

But no, she couldn't—she couldn't focus on that right now. Chris was suggesting she extend an olive branch to Spock, like that was a thing she could do. 

"We haven't spoken in _years_," she said, that hurting, too. 

Surprisingly, Chris took it in stride. "Family dynamics can be complicated," he offered, so much sympathy in his eyes. "My father was a science teacher and when he wasn't doing that, he taught comparative religion. It was a confusing household and we didn't agree on a lot." That actually lightened Michael, for a moment. Confusing, indeed. 

As Chris emphasized that he'd told her everything—Michael _feeling_ the truth of it—he asked for the same from her...and she couldn't help but flash to the figure that came to her aid back on that asteroid. The thing that haunted her own dreams. The thing she couldn't explain. 

Even now, it didn't make any sense. And some part of her didn't want Chris to doubt her. She didn't...need that from him.

So even though she was tempted, she kept her own counsel. Resisting temptation was what she did around him, after all.

Chris clearly knew she wasn't telling the whole truth, but he didn't call her on it, likely trusting her to come to him in her own time. It actually made her feel a little guilty, that trust. 

For once she was grateful when they got interrupted. 

***

"If you're telling me that this ship can skip across the universe on a highway made of mushrooms, I kinda have to go on faith," he said to Saru, dry. 

Michael startled, the want cascading through her _breathtaking_, even as the rational side of her mind perked up at that mention of faith. He'd made a religious reference when he first joined the _Discovery_. His dad taught comparative religion. All of this was adding up, piquing Michael's interest. 

She didn't_ need_ any more interest. 

A fact her body reminded her of _viscerally_ as they came out of the jump, Chris making noises better suited for bed than the bridge. Michael shifted, grateful for Saru's oblique sex joke taking her mind off...things. 

Thankfully, humans on a planet where there should be no humans provided a mystery to keep it occupied. 

***

"It's all coming from this structure here."

"It's a church, Burnham," Chris said, something heavy and meaningful in his voice. He was using her last name a lot, overly formal, almost like a reminder. 

But was it a reminder to her? Or to himself?

"Yes, sir," Michael said, surprised that he found this notable. It just emphasized...there were so many things about him she didn't know. Things she _wanted_ to know. He was obviously finding some meaning in this, though she couldn't quite make out the shape of it. 

She wanted to. She _wanted_. 

"Why did that second signal want us to come here?" he asked, searching. 

Michael stilled at that. "As science officer, I would advise restraint in ascribing motivation to what are now simply unidentifiable energy bursts."

"'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,'" Chris mused, once again _surprising_ her. The point of the quote was that human knowledge was limited, which of course it was, but the implication...

"I know my Shakespeare, Captain. Are you suggesting that some kind of divine intervention put those people on the planet?" she challenged. 

Instead of answering, Chris turned back and studied her. "I assume you're familiar with Clarke's third law?"

Michael answered by rote, wondering where he was going with this: "Yes, in the twentieth century, Arthur C. Clarke said that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic."

"The law was debated by scientists and theologians alike and later reinterpreted to say, 'Any sufficiently advanced extraterrestrial intelligence is indistinguishable from God.'" Michael blinked, absolutely _fascinated_ by this insight into his thought process. "I have no idea how or why they're here. But I highly doubt it's by accident," he said, holding her gaze, almost like his own challenge. It sent heat sweeping through her, her body pulsing and alive in his presence. 

She kept it off her face. She didn't need those thoughts right now. "Certainly a bold interpretation, sir," she said, neutral.

Amusement flicked across his expression, Chris not missing that that was her version of _bullshit_. 

The fact that he could read her so well warmed something inside her, even as Chris suggested that the two of them would be going down to the planet, Saru's surprise plain to see. 

Chris as a captain was...unorthodox. In so many ways. 

Michael just wished it didn't call to her so strongly.

***

Michael briefed Owo, then went to get changed before they beamed down, still mulling over Chris' words, his belief in some greater meaning to these events. She didn't know how she felt about that. Belief in the divine was illogical, of course, but from everything she'd seen, Chris was not an illogical person. It was...odd.

Not that she should spend any time thinking of this, of course. He was her captain. That was all. And if she found herself wanting to dig into his mind—a mind that could seamlessly bounce from Arthur C. Clarke to Shakespeare—well. That was yet one more impulse to be ignored.

She was just gathering her supplies into a nondescript travel bag when Tilly rushed in. "Oh, good, I caught you." She didn't stop until she had wrapped Michael in a hug, reminding, "Don't get killed."

Michael pulled back and smiled at her. "I'll try my best. What are you up to?"

"Taking a sample of the asteroid. It's gonna be _amazing_," she chirped, clearly deep into her science feelings. 

"I have no doubt." Michael turned to grab her bag. 

"Okay, what's wrong?" Tilly asked, sitting on the bed and studying her. 

Michael stiffened. Some days, she wished Tilly weren't quite so good at reading her. "Nothing's _wrong_, as it were."

"Then what's not right?" she volleyed back in that implacable way she had. She wouldn't give up until Michael satisfied her, so she might as well. 

"The captain..." Michael trailed off, not quite sure how to say it. Or even what it was. He'd been completely professional, as she'd asked, and yet. _And yet_. "I didn't think I'd be spending quite so much time with him."

"Yeah, I noticed you two came onto the bridge together. So what, it's reminding you how much you wanna bang him?"

Michael winced at the phrasing...and maybe the fact that she wasn't quite wrong. 

"I'm seeing another side to him," she offered. 

"Well, it can't be the naked side because you've been all over that," Tilly shot back, dry. "Do you mean in a bad way?"

"No, he's just...he thinks differently than I expected."

Tilly looked at her, shrewd. "And then you challenge him and he doesn't back down and all you can think about is naked alone time?"

"That's not _all_—"

"Oh, my god, you know what I mean," Tilly said, exasperated. 

"Maybe," Michael allowed. 

"You're getting to know him," Tilly decided. "That's not a bad thing. I mean, you met and then, like, _immediately_ fell into bed—which, again, 100% Tilly-approved—and the thing with the asteroid was basically all death and danger. Now it's slower and you're seeing who he really is. In addition to being a total snack."

"It's...confusing," Michael admitted. "I shouldn't even be thinking about it. He's the captain, I'm his science officer, that's it. We decided."

"Dumbly. _Dumbly_ decided," Tilly said. "I'm ignoring that because you being a dumb-dumb is not something I can process. Here's what I'll say: super-hot flings are one thing, but anything longer term and you need someone who can keep up with you. Someone whose mind you respect. My guess? You're seeing that he fits the bill and it's freaking you out."

Michael didn't say anything to that. She wasn't wrong, but Michael didn't really want to reckon with her being right, either. 

"Uh-huh. That's what I thought," Tilly nodded. 

"He entertains shades of the illogical more than I expected," Michael said. 

"And you want to know all about why," Tilly guessed. She smiled a little at Michael. "I know you were raised on Vulcan, but humans aren't perfectly logical. _Love_ isn't logical."

Michael held up a staying hand, startled. "Whoa—that's..."

"What?" Tilly asked, studying her closely. "Too real?"

She swallowed, something tight in her throat. "Too soon."

"Is it?" Tilly asked, something knowing in her voice. 

Michael had no idea how to respond to that. It was ridiculous. As they'd just established, she barely even knew Chris, beyond some very notable...attributes. 

The comm system interrupted then: "Commander Burnham to Transporter Room One."

"On my way," she said, relieved. She turned back to Tilly. "I adore you even if you did spend this entire conversation questioning my intelligence."

"That's what I'm here for," Tilly shot back, delighted. "A nice dose of reality. Now, seriously, _don't get killed_," she repeated, giving Michael her Very Serious Look. "And if you find an opportunity to jump the captain, for the love of god, take it. I mean, not that that's new for you, but I think you need the reminder."

Michael shot her a look. "Goodbye, Tilly."

"You'll thank me later," Tilly called after her as she walked out.

***

When Michael stepped into the transporter room, she _froze_. Chris stood waiting, checking his bag, and he looked—

He looked like he had when they'd first met. He wore olive green pants and shirt, the dark jacket over it all perfectly highlighting his shoulders, the cut of his jaw. Michael instantly flashed back to her leave, Chris shrugging off a jacket just like that, before peeling her out of her clothes and stealing her mind with pleasure. 

Chris glanced over at her and she actually saw the moment he clocked her hesitation, his expression flicking from confused to _knowing_. His gaze skipped down her body, something in Michael flushing hot, before he looked away. 

Michael wanted that gaze back. She wanted to revel in it as he pressed her down onto a bed, whispering his appreciation, blue eyes hot and focused only on her.

But no. They weren't...doing that. 

***

The planet was beautiful, green and lush, the structures simple. Michael wasn't one to romanticize the past—the benefits of science and technology were obvious and Michael couldn't imagine going backwards—but Chris' appreciative look around made her wonder what he thought. If he looked at a world like this and saw something different. 

She would ask, but it felt too personal for what they now were to each other. Michael tried not to dwell on that thought. It didn't sit well. 

Chris led them into the church, Michael taking it in, so very...typical. An everychurch, nothing truly distinctive about its set-up or organization. 

Up ahead, Chris asked, "Have either of you ever been in a church?" and there was something knowing in his voice, like he had, but wondered about them. 

Owo hadn't and Michael deflected, but once again curiosity swept through her as she took him in, struck by the odd sense of reverence in his voice. What was it about a relatively nondescript church that struck such a chord? Did it remind him of his father? Was that why all of this seemed to affect him so deeply?

Not that she could ask that, of course. It was inappropriate for his science officer to speculate. 

Michael's stomach pitched at the thought. 

And then the church doors flew open, a man confronting them, and those distracting thoughts vanished, Michael taking up position as Chris moved toward the newcomer, friendly. 

Her eyes _snapped_ to him when he introduced himself as "Christopher." The only other time she'd heard him use his full name was when he first introduced himself on the bridge. And now they were in a church, in a society that was obviously religious. Using his overtly religious full name to subtly curry favor was smart, Chris the kind of clever that knew how to run with it.

Michael ruthlessly suppressed the interest once again stirring in her body. Really, it was unseemly.

***

Michael listened to the Terralysium creation myth skeptically, trying to work out how any of this was possible. There was usually some kernel of truth to creation myths. If she could just get to the heart of it, she could find an answer. 

"But who should they thank for this salvation? Which god? There were so many faiths among them. How would they solve such a quandary?" the all-mother asked. 

"By combining all religions into one," Chris said, again, with that heavy note in his voice. Michael glanced at him, helpless not to when he sounded so open, so vulnerable. 

Still, Michael couldn't help but press, probing for any scientific explanation. They had no answer, the all-mother seeming unbothered by that. Michael shot a glance to Chris, but he seemed equally undisturbed, taking it in with an inscrutable expression on his face. 

Finally, he called it. "It's getting late. We're setting out early tomorrow. Would you mind if we take shelter in your church?" he asked. 

"Of course not," the all-mother replied, generous. 

"Thank you for the fellowship." Michael's eyes _snapped_ back to him, once again struck by the religious language he utilized. Was this just playing to the crowd? Or was it something more?

"Peace be with you," the all-mother said. 

"And also with you," Chris answered, an ancient call-and-response, from the old Catholic tradition, if she weren't mistaken. That he knew it, used it so readily...Michael didn't know how to read this. 

It didn't help that he looked so vulnerable with his jacket off, open and approachable. Part of her desperately wanted to walk up to him and press into his chest, wrapping herself in him. Another part just desperately wanted to _know_ him, wanted to be able to ask, to be known in return. 

Michael couldn't shake it. 

***

Owo fell in beside her as they walked back to the church, nodding her head at Chris, who was striding straight and true up ahead. "Is there something going on with the captain?" she asked, curious. 

Michael startled, trying not to reveal anything. "What do you mean?"

"You keep looking at him," Owo said, like it was obvious. It sent a rush of embarrassment through Michael. Was she really so transparent? "It made me think something might be wrong."

"No, Joann," she reassured, voice tight. "Nothing's wrong."

Nothing except her own inability to control herself, of course. But she wasn't about to admit that. 

***

Chris wanted to _leave_. Chris wanted to leave _without telling them_. Something in Michael rebelled at the injustice of it. These people had been transported here, for whatever reason, and because of it, they had to live in the past, never knowing how the rest of their species had advanced. It was _wrong_. 

And she told him so. Chris proved true to his word about dissenting opinions, meeting her point for point, his reasoning unassailable. Michael was frustrated that she couldn't crack him. She was frustrated even more that her body was buzzing, senses alive. She shouldn't be so...affected. 

"Worse, the faith they cling to is a lie."

"Can you prove that?" he asked, a goad, knowing full-well that you couldn't prove a negative. 

"What I will prove is that none of this happened because of some miracle," Michael shot back, undaunted. Chris' appreciative look warmed her dangerously. Thankfully, Owo interrupted then. 

But then Jacob found them and everything fell apart—Jacob immobilizing them and stealing their tech, Chris confronting him about it, once again framing it in religious terms. Always meeting people on their terms. 

When Rose accidentally activated one of their phasers, of course Chris ran to save her. 

The force of the blast flung Chris' body into the air, the sight enough to stop her breath. Michael's heart _seized_ in her chest even as she ran to help, a mantra of _no no no_ screaming through her head. The panic was too much, too sudden, threatening to bowl her over, so she shoved it aside, focused on the emergency at hand. 

Her hands shook as she turned him over, the chest wound red and raw. Philippa with a blade through her chest flashed before Michael's eyes, but she shoved that away, too, ignoring how her mind whispered that this injury was _mortal_. 

That couldn't be true. It _couldn't_.

Michael locked down her emotions, recalling his admonition about General Order One. She made up some excuse—she couldn't say what—just to get them out of sight. 

She just had to get them out of sight. Then she could save him. 

***

One thought just kept repeating, over and over: he could be dead. 

Michael had done everything right. They all had, the situation was just a confluence of bad luck, and still, _he could be dead_. 

Michael kept repressing all the _feelings_ that went along with that, but the helplessness would not be denied. She had brought Chris to medbay in time, and she knew Pollard was thoroughly capable, but she couldn't..._do_ anything. 

Dimly, as she paced through the waiting room, she realized this wasn't a normal reaction. Owo had gone to change and write up her report. Saru had already come and gone, accepting Michael's terse update with his usual serenity. Everyone was content to leave Chris in Pollard's skilled hands. 

Everyone but Michael. 

Tilly rushed in then, a distracted air about her, but she instantly focused on Michael. "I'm so sorry, I was—I just heard." She wrapped Michael in a hug, squeezing tight. "Are you okay?"

Against her will, Michael's eyes filled, the comfort almost too much. "He could be dead," she said, soft.

Tilly pulled back. "But he's not," she said, firm. "Pollard's amazing. They say he'll be just fine."

Michael nodded. She _knew_ all this. And yet. She waved a hand at her own face. "I don't understand this."

Tilly's eyes went soft. "I know."

"How do I make it stop?"

For once, Tilly had no answer.

***

Some kind of movement pulled Michael from a restless sleep. The fog cleared slowly, the pain in her back making itself known first. She was hunched over a biobed, the usual bustle of medbay muted at the late hour. She must have fallen asleep after Pollard had shown her to his bedside, frowning when she asked for a chair, but acquiescing. 

Then she realized what woke her. The hand she held in her grasp twitched again, just slightly. 

Chris' breath shallowed as he woke, his eyes fluttering open slowly. Pollard had said he was on serious painkillers. He might not even know she was holding his hand. 

That might be a good thing. 

But when he turned his head to meet her eyes, his gaze was fuzzy, but still_ there_. 

Sudden, dizzying relief swept through Michael. He was going to be okay. 

"Hi," she said, quiet, emotion trembling through her. She swallowed against it, trying to regain control. 

"Michael," he said, startling her with her first name, the pleased note to it likely just a result of sleep or drugs, but it warmed her nonetheless. 

"About time you came back to us," she said, realizing she was still gripping his hand. She let it go, straightening a little. 

"What happened?" he mumbled, frowning, like he couldn't remember. 

"Some idiot jumped on a phaser. It took a little effort, but Pollard put you back together again." Michael said it lightly, but it had been harrowing at the start, touch and go, Michael pacing as Pollard and her team worked, all the nurses giving her a wide berth. 

Chris nodded, not volleying back at her, which told her everything, really. "Ow."

"Oh, just wait. It's not gonna get more fun."

One corner of his mouth curled up, despite everything, and it was a relief...but it also _hurt_ somewhere deep, though she couldn't say why. 

Chris watched her, eyes soft, raising his hand to her cheek, like he couldn't help himself. "You're here."

Michael covered his hand with her own, holding it to her, something terrible and trembling in her chest. "Of course I am."

"Michael," he said again, reverent, as his eyes fluttered closed, his hand slumping in hers as he fell unconscious. She pressed his hand down to the bed carefully, feeling too many things.

She'd go tell Pollard he woke up. Then she could get changed and...try to rein herself in. 

***

Tilly looked up when Michael walked into their quarters. "Anything?"

"He woke up. He's going to be fine," Michael said, flat.

Tilly nodded, but the worried look didn't go away. "And?"

Michael's voice cracked. "He called me 'Michael.'" The tears finally came then, a wash of grief she didn't understand. Tilly quickly moved to her, pulling her into a hug, but Michael couldn't really feel it, not over the storm passing through her. 

She just _cried_, without knowing why. 

***

He called her to his ready room to thank her for following orders, the consummate professional. Michael drank him in, relieved that he was here, joking. Alive. And yet, she couldn't get the _thing _out of her chest, that clawing feeling still threatening to choke her, that reminder echoing inside her: _he could be dead_. She still didn't know how to make it stop.

So she tried to unburden herself. 

"You asked earlier if there was anything odd to tell you. There is. And I didn't," she admitted, remorse flooding through her. She should have trusted him from the outset. She should have known he wouldn't judge her. "The angelic being they worship on Terralysium? It appeared to me on the asteroid."

Chris remained inscrutable as he asked, "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I was injured, I thought I was hallucinating," she said, not proud of it. She didn't mention doubting him, but knowing Chris, he'd hear it anyway. 

Chris sat back, studying her, but he thankfully didn't call her on it. "That can't be a coincidence. Two signals, two angel sightings."

And there it was again, that subtle tint to his thinking. One Michael couldn't let stand. "With all due respect, sir, the word 'angel' does carry with it certain implications. I saw a form. It hovered above me. And it was, to be completely honest, quite beautiful. But beyond that I wouldn't ascribe to it divine properties."

Chris gestured out the window. "Those people on New Eden do. And they would find your experience to be quite a revelation."

Michael studied him, still wondering where all of this was coming from. "Is that how you see it, sir? As a revelation?"

He looked away and smiled a little, like he couldn't help himself. "At the very least, it's new information. Creates more context. And context can alter our perspective." Chris stood and moved to the window, inviting her to join him with a look. 

Michael did, pressing her point: "What about Jacob? Isn't he entitled to a little context?" she asked, coaxing. "He knows in his heart who and what we are and we chose to lie to him. We have the power to help him solve a mystery that's plagued his family for two hundred years. We could alter his perspective," she said, using his own words against him. 

Chris didn't take to it, firm. "Look, I feel for the guy, too. But even angels are no excuse for violating General Order One."

"Well, I have a better excuse: his helmet camera. Jacob said it recorded whatever was in that church the day they were taken. And as I see it, sir, the urgency of our mission directly contradicts Starfleet's first rule. To serve one goal, the other has to be sacrificed. But that's a choice only a captain can make."

Chris studied her for a long moment...and then he sighed. He nodded. "And that's an argument a captain can use." 

Something fluttered in Michael's chest, not just the victory of it, that she swayed him, but that he _listened_. She nodded back, appreciative. 

Despite herself, her eyes drifted down to the bandage across his chest, the reminder of how close that was. He could be dead. 

Of course he noticed. "I really am fine, Michael," he said, quiet, using her first name again. But the intimacy of it didn't help. It just reminded her. 

"This time," she said, hearing the faint edge to her own voice. 

Chris clocked it, too. "Something on your mind?" he asked, careful.

Michael considered. She should let it go. She wasn't going to change who he was. It wasn't even her right to bring it up. There was no point. 

But dammit, _no_. 

"This is the second time you've been cavalier with your own life," Michael said, short. 

Chris blinked, clearly not expecting that. "I wouldn't say I'm cavalier."

"You jumped on a phaser."

Chris shrugged, like this was obvious: "Someone could've gotten hurt."

"_You_ got hurt," she insisted. 

"If it's a choice between me and innocent bystanders, I'll be on the losing side of that every time. Happily. So would you." He shook his head. "What happened to being comfortable with risk?"

"I am comfortable with risk."

"But not when it applies to me," he observed, shrewd. 

"Not when you go looking for it," she shot back.

Chris raised his eyebrows, seeming surprised. "You're angry."

Michael opened her mouth to deny it—

And stopped. She _was_ angry, she realized, hot rage clawing up from her chest to her throat. But it was nonspecific, nothing she could staunch. He'd done the right thing, she would have done the same, but she was still..._mad_. 

"Yes," she finally said, ragged. 

"Why?" he asked, seeming genuinely curious.

Michael's jaw worked as the question burned through her. She shook her head, without answer. 

Chris softened. "I didn't jump on that phaser because I want to die. I just reacted."

"I know." And Michael did. Chris was the man who jumped on the phaser; that was who he was, down to his bones. She _knew_ that. Respected it, even.

So why did something in her rebel?

"Take some time with it," he offered, tilting his head in understanding. "I'm here if you need me."

Michael nodded, head swimming with too many emotions at once: anger, fascination, _want_. She couldn't get a handle on it. On herself. "Thank you, sir."

***

"I may have chewed out the captain," Michael admitted.

"Ohhhh-kay. Not the activity with the captain I recommended," Tilly said from her bed, eyes wide. "How'd that go?"

"He asked why I was mad and then told me to take some time with it." Because he wanted to _understand_. Something about that stoked her anger. 

She blinked. "Why are you mad?"

"I...don't know." Michael shook her head. "He didn't even think. He just jumped on that phaser like it was nothing and—He could have _died_." She stopped, not knowing what this feeling was. 

"It scared you," Tilly offered softly.

Michael winced, the assessment hitting too close to home, the bubbling terror present even now, even when everyone was safe. "I couldn't _do_ anything."

Tilly looked at her, such sympathy in her eyes, like she had already figured this out and was just waiting for Michael to catch up. "Because you care. And caring makes you vulnerable."

"I hate it," Michael said, vehement, this out-of-control feeling shredding her equilibrium. 

Tilly narrowed her eyes. "Do you, though?"

That was the question.

***

Michael watched the video, eyes widening when she saw the red angel, the exact same vision that had appeared to her. The video abruptly cut off and Michael blinked, coming back to herself. Chris turned to her, nodding at the screen. "That what you saw?"

"Yes."

"Well, at least we know what we're looking for."

Michael nodded absently, filing this new information away. But another part of her was conscious of his undone collar, the late hour. Her earlier anger had receded, leaving something else in its place. Michael shied away from it. 

"How was your talk with Jacob?" she asked instead. 

Chris smiled a little, like he was remembering. "You were right. All he wanted was the confirmation. After he got it, he shut down the signal. It won't draw anyone else."

Michael nodded. It wasn't entirely what she'd wanted, but it was something, she supposed. "That's good news."

"And how are you?" he asked, careful now. 

Michael sighed. "I'm sorry about before." And she was. She shouldn't have confronted him like that. It was the furthest thing from appropriate. 

Chris shrugged, like it was no big deal. "Accepted. I get it. It can't be easy to watch your captain take one to the chest."

"I didn't watch my captain get hit," she said, some part of her wanting him to understand. "I watched _you_ get hit," she clarified, her voice shaking a little. She looked away. "It scared me. I took that out on you and...I apologize."

"Michael..." he said, a tiny helpless note to it that bizarrely made her feel better. He didn't say anything else; he just moved close, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing tight. 

Michael fell into it, burying her head in his chest—his moving, breathing chest—feeling a sting at the back of her eyes. But it didn't make _sense_. He was fine. _She_ was the one having an overblown emotional reaction. 

"It's silly," she finally said, looking up at him. 

"It's not. We don't go looking for danger, but sometimes it finds us anyway. That takes a toll." He rubbed his hand down her back, soothing, nothing sexual at all. But now in his arms, surrounded by his scent, want _slammed_ into Michael. He was alive and here and _with her_. 

It wasn't even a decision, really. It was an _imperative_. 

Michael leaned up and pressed her mouth to his, firm and sure. 

Chris startled, but he didn't hesitate, mouth moving against hers, kissing her back slowly, like he was savoring her taste. 

It lit something inside her, Michael making a noise against his lips, tilting her head and pressing against him, needing more. 

Chris turned his head and broke the kiss, sucking in a breath, gathering himself. Finally he looked at her, eyes dark. "I thought we weren't doing that anymore," he said, husky. 

If she weren't already turned on, his voice in_ that_ tone would've done it. 

"Sex now, talk later," she said against his mouth, hovering a hairsbreadth away, letting him make the call. 

Chris groaned and crushed their mouths together, pulling Michael _in_. And like that, it went frenzied, Michael gripping him, trying to get as close as she could. Chris dove into her mouth, exploring, then pulled away to nip at her. His hand stroked a slow path from mid-back all the way down to her ass, pulling her in to where she could already feel his erection stirring. Michael made a strangled noise as she sucked on his tongue, grinding against him.

Chris broke away on a gasp, calling out, "Computer, privacy protocol," in a voice that sent Michael's mind straight to how much sex they could be having right now. 

She latched onto his neck, propelling him back to the couch, hands snagging his jacket zipper—already partially undone, thank you—and ripping it down. She shoved the jacket off, pushing his shirt up after it, ducking her head to mouth at his ribs, no burned-out hole in his chest, just Chris, real and gasping against her. 

"Christ, Michael," he groaned as her tongue found a nipple, her fingers defeating the clasp on his pants and diving in. He was halfway there when she wrapped a fist around him and got harder as she stroked, biting at his nipples, then breathing hotly against them. 

Chris unzipped her jacket, his hands halting and awkward as she stroked him. He tugged at the open jacket, trying to urge her on. "Come on, come on," he breathed. 

Michael pushed him back onto the couch, Chris going willingly, bouncing a little as he stared at her, half-naked, pants open. It was a good look for him. 

Michael shrugged off her jacket as she kicked off her shoes, hands making quick work of her pants, shimmying out of them at the same time as her underwear. She scrambled on top of Chris, finding his mouth again, that clever tongue teasing over her palate. It hadn't been that long since they'd done this, but it felt like longer, so much of her energy focused on trying to ignore the want. Futilely, it turned out. 

Chris pushed her shirt up, making an urging noise into her mouth, and she leaned back to rip it off—

Only to anchor a hand behind his neck and pull him with her as she fell back onto the couch, legs spread. Chris landed between them, the scrape of his uniform pants feeling rough against her inner thighs, his erection snug against her hip. His weight over her sent a spark of _yes_ through her. _This_ was what she'd wanted. 

"What—" Chris started, but Michael took his mouth again, raking her nails down his back.

"Like this," she said, reaching a hand into his pants again, finding him fully hard. She drew his cock out as Chris gasped against her mouth, a shudder going through him that she could feel _everywhere_. 

"But—clothes—" he gasped. 

"Do you need to be naked to get inside me right now?" she asked, breathy, his cock jumping in her hand as he groaned, overcome. 

Michael took that as her answer and lined him up, moving him where she wanted, Chris going with it. He settled against her, glassy eyes meeting hers as she wrapped a leg around him, nudging him on. "Chris, please," she said. 

He brought a hand up and framed her face as he kissed her, sinking _in_, thrusting deep and perfect. They moaned in unison and Chris didn't disappoint, immediately setting up a rhythm, short, brutal thrusts that had nerve endings lighting up everywhere. 

Michael hung on and moaned into his mouth, taking in the odd feeling of his chest moving against her tank top, the brush of his pants against her legs, none of it able to distract from how perfectly her filled her, hitting that spot that made sparks dance behind her eyelids every time. 

Chris pulled back from the kiss then, that hand still cupping her face, his lust-darkened eyes holding hers as he fucked her, deep and hard. 

Something caught in Michael's throat, a tight feeling there, and she gripped him, hands _flexing_ against his shoulders, feeling hard muscle move under smooth skin. He was _here_, alive and fucking her beautifully. Nothing else mattered. 

Chris seemed to sense something, soft fingers moving over her cheek, a contrast to the thrusts that shook the entire couch. "You've got me, Michael," he rumbled, low. "I'm right here."

Her body fluttered around him, orgasm building at the feeling of him over her, in her, surrounding her. He moved his other hand between them, touching her perfectly—

And Michael gasped, light crashing_ through_ her, pulse after pulse of bliss, Chris fucking her through it, finally dropping his head to groan into her shoulder as his own body shook. 

After, Michael just panted, liking how he felt on top of her as her mind drifted, residual pleasure slipping through her. She tried not to think what they looked like—Chris naked from the waist up, Michael from the waist down. Her tank clung to her, sweaty.

The furthest thing from 'professional.'

Chris' breath finally evened out, his cock starting to soften inside her, and he shifted back, pulling out. 

Michael groaned at the feeling, curling on her side. Chris didn't say anything, curling around her—_the big spoon_, her mind supplied—his presence a warm comfort. He dropped an arm over her, fingertips trailing along her wrist, regular and soothing. 

Absurdly, tears pricked at the backs of her eyes again. It was ridiculous, he was doing everything right—

But no, that was why, Michael realized. If he'd died, she would have missed this. Not just the sex, but the closeness, this support he managed to convey while saying nothing at all. Even if they hadn't done this again, Michael would feel this loss. 

She'd wanted to keep things professional. She'd wanted the _impossible_.

Finally, she pulled herself together and turned so she could look back at him. "You were supposed to be a one-night stand," she said, helpless.

The corner of Chris' lips quirked. "If it makes you feel any better, the one-night stands I've had are still some of my best friends."

Michael smiled, but even she could feel it was shaky. "Finally, something you're bad at."

"Oh, we've got a list going. One-night stands. Self-preservation. I'm also a terrible cook. My mother despairs of me," he said, keeping it light, his eyes so soft. 

She pressed her fingertips there, at the corner of his eye, where he gave himself away. "I thought I could set it aside—Chris and Michael. So that we could be captain and commander."

"But you can't," he said, like he was learning the shape of something. 

"It's only been a few weeks," she protested, appalled at herself. It was juvenile, losing her head over a man she basically just met.

"It took me all of a day to get utterly lost in you," he said, voice catching, so much emotion there.

It landed on her with the clarity of a phaser going off—_she_ had wanted to keep things professional. He'd agreed, but _she_ had suggested it. 

"I never asked what you want," she breathed, infusing an apology at the end. 

Chris smiled a little. "I'll always follow your lead."

"Chris," she prompted, insistent. 

He took her hand from his face and brought it to his mouth, kissing it firmly. "You. Just you. However that can happen."

The naked honesty in his eyes stole her breath, his bravery inspiring. Halting, she asked, "Do you think...we can serve together and _be_ together at the same time?"

He squeezed the hand he still held. "I think we can do anything we put our minds to."

Michael swallowed, conscious of how much this mattered. "Then we should try," she decided, the _rightness_ of it landing on her, that _thing_ in her chest finally, mercifully settling. 

He nodded, leaning over to kiss her once, soft. He moved away, his arm going back around her, the two of them just enjoying each other's warmth. 

Michael drowsed, perfectly content. As she did, she realized...if they weren't keeping things professional, she didn't have to wonder anymore. 

"Can I ask you something?" she asked in the quiet, Chris still spooned behind her. 

"Of course," he said, his breath tickling her ear. 

"Are you religious?"

Chris huffed out a laugh and moved back a little as she turned toward him to meet his eyes. "Is that why you kept watching me?"

Michael flushed as she realized he'd caught her. But she pressed the point: "All the religious references. The way you approached Jacob and his people..."

He nodded, understanding. But there was a curious glint to his eyes. "Would it be a problem if I were?"

And yes, that was the question she'd been avoiding. She mulled it over. _Could_ she be with someone who was so comfortable leaving logic behind? "I don't know," she said, honest. 

Chris _hmmed_, thoughtful. "I don't ascribe to any religion, no," he answered, soft. "But I will admit that the idea of some greater meaning behind it all...that does ring true to me." He paused, considering. "That a dealbreaker?"

"I don't understand it," she admitted. 

Chris tipped his head in acknowledgment, but he let his question stand. 

_Was_ it a dealbreaker? Michael considered. It wasn't that he was illogical; it was that he was willing to entertain illogical explanations as possibilities. It seemed like a waste of time to Michael, but it wasn't inherently at odds with their core mission of exploration. 

Aside from that, Michael tried imagining going back to the way things had been, abject failure though that was. It was clear she couldn't keep away from him. Didn't want to, really.

And wasn't that everything, in the end?

Michael met his eyes again, tipping her head. "Not a dealbreaker. But get ready for a debate because I won't be letting it go."

Chris laughed, then leaned in to kiss her nose. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


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